Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One (10 page)

He moved back to the
center of the speaking platform and drooped his wings.  "And now we’re
going to kick them to the curb because that’s their job?  Right?  The only
reason the Emperor created them was to bow down to the evolved races and defend
them.  Who cares if they go extinct so long as they continue to defend us until
not a single one is left?”

Total silence reigned
in the halls of Parliament.  A nervous cough broke the silence from the upper
balcony.  Lucifer made eye contact with key delegates from the old block that
would otherwise oppose him and watched them squirm.  Money.  It all came down
to money.  He'd just laid out a moral justification for helping his people that
delegates could take back to their constituents and make themselves look good. 
Now he needed to spell things out in terms the delegates, lurking in their
lofty balconies so far above the
real
world inhabited by ordinary people
or the hybrids that defended them,
really
cared about.  Money.  And
power.

“Only consider this
question, ladies and gentlemen.  If the hybrids are not here to protect us any
longer, then who will?  Who?  Who will protect the Alliance when the hybrids
are gone?”  He let the question hang before them like a bad odor before
reciting a famous Alliance slogan.  “As the hybrid races that defend us go, so
shall the Alliance.”

'Guilt.  Guilt. 
Guilt.'

'Fear.'

'Just like a
well-crafted television commercial.'

He could practically
hear
violins playing in the background.  That small, sarcastic voice which had
whispered to his subconscious for almost as long as he could remember began to
egg him on.  It whispered for him to go for it!  Ram this veto override through
Parliament!  Overrule his immortal father's objections and end the stranglehold
the eternal bickering between the two ascended emperor-gods had upon the
citizens of
both
empires.  It whispered for him to save his species.

“Never-ending war is
not the answer.”  Lucifer switched gears from righteous indignation to bringer
of hope.  “I'm here today to propose a better way to achieve peace.” 

As he said the last
sentence, he lifted his wings from their dejected slump.  His demeanor changed
from sorrow to that of a television preacher peddling absolution to a
circus-tent full of sinners.  He'd just pointed out the ugly reality.  Now it
was time to do what his adopted father had trained him to do from birth … to
sell redemption.

“Over the past
decade,” Lucifer's wings fluttered with excitement, "border skirmishes in
certain sectors are down.  The Sata'an Empire has left those sectors alone, not
because we patrol them with hybrids in warships, but because those planets
trade with the Sata’an Empire.  Shay’tan’s people desire Alliance goods.  They
view them as superior to their own.”

Lucifer brought every
aspect of his physiology into play as he spoke, pacing back and forth, looking
particular delegates in the eye, and gesturing at certain parts of the speech for
emphasis.  He was selling a solution to an ugly problem that nobody wanted to
face.  He was a contact team sports coach cheering on his team.

“To appease his
people,” Lucifer spoke quickly so he wouldn't be interrupted, “Shay’tan allows
trading partners to import goods without charging tariffs.  If the Alliance
expanded this partnership, everyone would win."

He moved towards the
block of ancient races, which only ever cared about how things affected their
business interests.  "We win, the manufacturers win, and the Empire wins. 
Win-win-win.  Everybody’s happy.  Everybody’s rich.  And nobody will go to war
because their economies are too closely tied to the well-being of their trading
partner to risk upsetting the fruit cart.”

The freshman Spiderid
lord who had interrupted him earlier stood up and heckled him.  “That’s the
rhetoric Shay’tan gave the 51-Pegasi-4 colony!  And look what it got them. 
Shay'tan slaughtered the whole planet!!! 
And
the entire race of
Seraphim Angelics along with it!”

Lucifer's wings
shuddered. 
The Seraphim…

“That was 25 years
ago.”  Lucifer spoke solemnly.  "It was not Shay’tan’s doing.  Hashem
himself verified it was pirates acting on their own accord.”

“So claims
Shay’tan!!!” the Spiderid lord rebutted, his eight legs gesturing with glee. 
“From eye witness reports, soldiers wearing Sata’anic uniforms invaded the
planet.  Not a disorganized band of pirates.”

That small, quiet
voice that often guided Lucifer for all things political whispered into his
mind:
  'He is nothing but a silly little upstart, drunk with power at the
thought of snatching the vote from the Alliance's highest civilian authority. 
You must treat him like the child he is…'

“So said one
frightened 9-year-old boy!"  Lucifer turned his back on the Spiderid
delegate to signal he was being dismissed and appealed instead to the ancient
races who were, themselves, so close to genetic perfection that they identified
more than any species with his father.  "Are we to believe the ramblings
of a child too young to understand what he saw over our own Emperor’s
investigation?”

The Muqqibat delegate
hit his staff against the floor.  The block of ancient races immediately grew
silent.  They wouldn't allow an upstart from a brand-new homeworld to steal the
show.  The ripple of silence which moved through the great assembly was
unspoken, but it was complete.  Lucifer had spelled out the tragedy in terms
they cared about … money and power.  They would allow him to finish making his
speech.

“Shay’tan won't cede
territory," Lucifer continued.  "But he
will
give peaceful
trading companies access to sell products his people need.  All he asks in
return is that we do the same."  He paused to let his words sink in. 
"He asks that we allow him to expand trade into all Alliance territories
as a gesture of good faith.  Fair … is square."  The notion of fundamental
fairness was one of the basic underpinnings of Alliance society.

'They don't
-really- care about fairness.  Spell it out in the only terms they'll
understand.  What it will cost them if they -don't- vote for this trade deal…'

“It's either that,”
Lucifer's wings swept upwards like a raptor swooping in for the kill, his
demeanor ominous as he gestured as though snatching something small and
helpless, “or we need to figure out whose children we'll draft into the
military to defend us.  Because at the rate the hybrids are dying out, within
ten years there won't be enough of us left to defend you anymore."

He walked back over to
where the ancient races congregated and pointed to them.  "It takes six
naturally evolved humanoids to fill the shoes of a single hybrid, and those
species have voting rights.  So compute
those
numbers when you figure
out how much it will cost to reject Shay'tan's olive branch.  It's trade
agreements … or the draft.  Your choice.”

Lucifer waited until
the delegates for the ancient races, who had been blocking his trade proposal,
made eye contact.  The Muqqibat delegate took his staff and thumped it solidly
upon the floor.  He'd won them over.

“I hereby make a
motion for Parliament to expand the existing Free Trade agreement for all
peaceful non-military cargo vessels to all Alliance territories,” Lucifer said.
“I move said motion to a vote…”

“Shay’tan doesn't play
by the same rules as we do!!!” the young Spiderid lord shouted.  “We already
see this in the existing trade agreements.  Shay’tan conquers newer sentient
planets and conscripts their citizens to be his labor force so he can undersell
us.  It's slavery!”

Several delegates
wavered.  Lucifer's wings twitched with irritation.  It was
convenient
how
the citizens of this great Alliance called what Shay'tan did to his own
citizen's slavery, but overlooked the 500 years of forced military service they
required of all hybrids.

“If we move to a
policy of trading with the Sata’an Empire,” Lucifer said.  “Border skirmishes
will go down.  We can use the threat of trade sanctions, instead of armed
incursions into disputed territories, to force Shay’tan to capitulate." 
He looked up into the squabbling delegates perched above him.

'You're losing the
newer sentient races.  You must promise them something they can take back to
their constituents and say they did the right thing…'

"It will give our
besieged hybrid military a chance to replenish their ranks."  Lucifer gave
them the empty promise he knew he couldn't deliver because death in battle was
no longer the biggest problem, but inability to reproduce.  But fewer wasted
lives would buy the hybrids time, and time was what he desperately sought.  “It
will send a message this Alliance
values
the contribution hybrids have
made to our well-being for hundreds of thousands of years.”

The Spiderid lord
shouted a challenge.  “If you open Alliance markets to unfettered trade, money
will flow into Shay’tan’s coffers.  He will use it to build up his military. 
Our industry will be decimated and our standard of living will be reduced to
poverty."

"Shut up!"
several anonymous delegates shouted.  "Do you think we want
our
kids
to be Hashem's cannon fodder?"

  The young Spiderid
lord was persistent.  "Shay’tan won’t
have
to defeat us in battle. 
This resolution will allow him to simply bankrupt and buy us!”

“We have a choice,”
Lucifer projected his voice into the upper balconies where the newer sentient
races who were both sympathetic to the hybrid's plight, and also the most
impacted by the proposed free trade agreement, resided.  “Are we going to tell
our hybrid soldiers to go quietly into that dark night?  That we don't
care
if
they go extinct so long as they continue to protect us while doing it?  Or will
we take charge of this situation and say NO MORE WAR!!!  Who wants to vote for
peace?”

“Ay!!!” the delegates
shouted, voting heavily in favor of the resolution. 

“Any opposed?” the
Speaker of the Commons asked.

“Nay!”  The young
Spiderid Lord's voice rang alone, earning glares.  He was not the only delegate
who opposed the measure.  Just the only one naive enough not to simply abstain.

“The Aye’s have it!”
the Speaker shouted, banging on his podium with his gavel.  “The free trade
agreement passes!”

Lucifer bowed,
thanking the legislators as they filed out past him, including the Spiderid
lord who had concerns he wanted addressed.  He could
feel
the positive
energy flowing off of the crowd, making his head buzz with power. 
This
was
what his father had trained him from birth to do, creating the position of
Prime Minister and putting him in charge of the day-to-day politics of running
the Alliance.  Lucifer snorted with disgust.  Hashem wouldn't deign to muddy
his godlike consciousness dealing with the lesser affairs of mortals!  Making
small talk and clapping the young lord on the back, he excused himself and
moved outside.

“Sire,” his Chief of
Staff Zepar asked.  “Shall I ask the Party to cut off all funding to that
little Spiderid pain in the ass before the next election?”  Zepar was also an
Angelic.

'If you don't get
rid of him, he will keep raising this point until people begin to listen to
him...'

“Do it.”  Lucifer
waved for the cameras.  “Oh … and see what dirt you can dig up on him.  Even if
you have to make it up.  I want negative reports leaked to the media by
nightfall.”

“Yes, Sire,” Zepar
clasped his hands together like a spider pulling a cocooned insect into its
mouth to feed upon it.  “Consider it done.  Now … your next appointment is at
3:00 p.m.  A cadet right out of the academy...”

~ * ~ * ~
* ~ * ~

February - 3,390 BC

Earth:  Crash site

Colonel Mikhail Mannuki’ili

Mikhail

Something was wrong.

Mikhail’s eyes shot
open.  He'd learned to trust the instinct that something bad was coming at
him.  Reaching to his hip and finding the reassuring bulge of his sidearm still
in the holster, he groaned in agony as he lurched to his feet and wobbled
unsteadily, fighting the urge to pass out as his punctured lung tore against
the stitches.  Clutching at the control panels to remain upright, his broken
wing dragged uselessly behind him as he moved towards the crack in the hull.